Bev Tappan

Author: Bev Tappan

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: THE AGING BRAIN

    THE AGING BRAIN

    I don’t recall your face

    And yet you know my name:

    This is a frequent lapse

    In my senescent brain.

    A “stranger” smiles at me

    And waits expectantly.

    What will my answer be?

    I smile effusively.

    Or I will make two dates

    For the same calendar hour

    When a single destination

    Is all that’s in my power.

    Or the “crossword” that I know

    May still remain a blank,

    So tantalizingly close

    Outside my memory bank.

    I fear the day will come

    When I forget my name,

    Forget to return home

    Because I’ve lost my way.

    But I will brightly smile

    And answer eagerly,

    Remembering all the while

    That once you smiled at me.

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: ENCOUNTER

    ENCOUNTER

    We dip our paddles stealthily.

    The heron eyes us warily.

    Too young to have acquired fear,

    He wonders why we have come here.

    Water lilies are his rug.

    He elegantly gives a shrug

    And makes his graceful ballet jete

    To move away some fifteen feet,

    Then settles down to keep a watch

    On strange intruders drifting past.

    We paddle onward carefully,

    Happy this water nymph to see.

  • Tamworth POEMS: EARTHLY DELIGHTS

    EARTHLY DELIGHTS

    Those who have waked to the loon’s querulous cries

    And listened to the wind in the white pines sigh,

    Watched the gray fox walk his casual way

    And moose shake the water weeds out of the lake,

    Startled wild turkeys into sheltering trees,

    Waited for the bear and her cubs to leave,

    Lain in the field to applaud the borealis,

    Savored the syrup of Northeast sugar maples,

    Chatted with the chittering young porcupines,

    Admired beaver families’ dam designs,

    These happy few have enjoyed our earth’s delights:

    They will exit smiling into the infinite night.

    (July 2014)

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: WISH YOU WERE HERE

    WISH YOU WERE HERE

    I’ve gotten used to 

    The empty chair,

    The unwrinkled pillow,

    And one place at the table

    Without you,

    But how can I watch

    The moon tangled in black branches,

    The sun rise over Carter Notch,

    Or the first flakes of new snowfall

    Without you?

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES

    SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES

    How many campfires did you lay,
    Birchbark, twigs and slender sticks,
    To tempt the creeping tongue of flame
    And feed its fiery appetite?
    You learned to build the pyramid
    With tinder arching over bark:
    A single match would serve to wick
    The pyre construed with boy scout art.
    How many trees did you cut down
    And split and stack for winter fuel
    In the Franklin stove that kept us warm
    And gave us cheerful hearts as well?
    Now as I feed my grandson’s blaze
    Constructed with his sage advice,
    I think of your consistent ways
    And feel the smoke tear up my eyes.
    (July 2014)

  • TAMWORTH POEMS: THE MATING GAME

    THE MATING GAME

    Two people in a chess match:
    One sets forth a cautious pawn.
    The other counters her halfway.
    They both look for another play.
    Perhaps the bishop should approach
    The queen quite deferentially,
    Or a bold knight might gallop forth
    To look for opportunity.
    One good turn deserves another:
    Pieces freely are exchanged,
    Adversaries overtaken,
    For the climax, clear the board.
    Finally the king stands naked.
    Queenie has him in her sights.
    He will finally be mated.
    She will claim her sovereign rights.

  • ICELAND POEMS: THE HIDDEN FOLK

    THE HIDDEN FOLK

    Land of falling waters,

    Land of ice and fire

    Where the Hidden People

    Have chosen to retire,

    They say Eve’s unwashed children

    Were forced to hide from God

    And so they fled beneath the earth

    To shelter from His rod.

    They will do you favors

    If you spare their homes,

    But woe will surely follow

    If you disturb their domes.

    Boulders scattered in the fields,

    Seastacks on the shore,

    Six-sided basalt columns,

    Jagged lava flows:

    All the work of Hidden Folk

    Who can become your friends

    Or who can do you mischief

    If you defeat their ends.

    Land of falling waters,

    Land of ice and fire,

    There is much in Iceland

    To gaze at and admire.

    (June 2014)

  • RIVERWOODS POEMS: STILL MISSING YOU

    STILL MISSING YOU

    I say I’ve shifted gears,

    Embarked on new affairs,

    Traveled to foreign ports,

    Shrugged off all my cares.

    But then a memory

    Will catch me unaware

    And I will start to weep

    Because you are not here.

    Because you are not here,

    My love, because you are not there:

    No matter where I look for you

    You are not anywhere.

  • ICELAND POEMS: WILD HARVEST

    WILD HARVEST

    Icelanders know where sea birds live

    In crevice and cranny, on crag and cliff.

    Icelanders know how to climb

    And where to look and at what time.

    The locals have learned just how to take

    Their eggs from murres and kittiwakes:

    Not too many and just when

    So every hen will lay again.

    Stormy petrels and razorbills,

    Fulmars, gannets and wagtails:

    In markets you will see them all

    Colored, speckled, large and small.

    They cannot get enough of puffins

    Yet puffin populations boom

    And eider ducks produce big eggs

    As well as marketable down.

    Sheerwaters and guillemots,

    Only the ravens are their foes.

    Icelanders know what they’re worth:

    Icelanders are for the birds.

  • ICELAND POEMS: THERE BE DRAGONS

    THERE BE DRAGONS

    Beneath the Iceland ice cap

    Sleeping dragons lie

    Dreaming of the day when

    They once again will fly.

    And while their dreams are pleasant

    They lie in restful ease,

    But in a fiery nightmare

    Their hot breath starts to wheeze.

    So in the month of April

    Of the year two thousand ten

    Eyjafjallajokull

    Awakened once again.

    The melting ice above him

    Flooded the coastal streams

    And added to the outburst

    Their blinding, boiling streams.

    The earth shook with his movements

    As he rose to his knees

    And lava flowed like red blood

    In rhythm with his keens.

    Until he launched a geyser

    With his desperate dragon roar:

    A tower of tephra boulders

    That tumbled toward the shore.

    As his fire at last abated,

    He sank down in despair

    With just some final hiccups

    Of blue haze in the air.

    But his neighbor Holuhraum

    Has now begun to stir 

    So Icelanders are watchful

    For new tremors in their earth.

    And they keep the ancient adage

    In the forefront of their minds:

    Do not disturb the universe,

    Let sleeping dragons lie.